The maid's room was quiet.
Amelia closed the door and let her back rest against it for a moment. The smell of hospital disinfectant still clung to her clothes; under it was faint coffee and Sophie's perfume.
She crossed to the narrow desk and opened her old laptop.
The screen flickered on slowly. She logged into her bank account and waited.
The number appeared.
Small. Almost empty.
Years of work, swallowed by “family needs" and debts she hadn't created.
She switched tabs and logged into the overseas account she had opened in secret with a one-time bonus from a forgotten drama.
A second number showed up.
Still small, but real.
“Enough to walk away," she murmured.
Not enough to fight Mason. But enough to rent a place, eat, breathe. Her mother's treatment no longer depended on him.
